


The Madness of Honour

by Thesuncameouttoday



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ep 1 introspection, F/M, Identity Issues, Jonny boy tries to be selfish for once, Love is the death of duty, oh boy oh boy this is a sad one lol, the aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 19:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18581380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesuncameouttoday/pseuds/Thesuncameouttoday
Summary: Why did he have to tell him?For a few spare seconds, though fleeting but there, he had wanted to punch Sam. Right into one of his big, brown eyes. Feel that almost satisfying sensation of bone crunching beneath his rough knuckles. His best friend, the one who had been with him through thick and thin.





	The Madness of Honour

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to expand more on the aftermath of Jon's reveal, in a way that put him _actually_ in the front and centre. But beware because this is GoT so there is a ton of angst and self loathing.  
> Also _beware_ because I _use_ italicized _words way_ too much lol.

Why did he have to tell him?

For a few spare seconds, though fleeting but there, he had wanted to punch Sam. Right into one of his big, brown eyes, feel that almost satisfying feeling of bone crunching beneath his rough knuckles. His best friend, the one who had been with him through thick and thin. 

Air was barely entering Jon’s lungs, making the dusty and old halls of the crypts slightly spin in his vision. 

“No,” he seethed, eyes filled to the brim with tears as he huffed. He could barely see Sam through the dizzy anger being spun in within his body, like his vision was blurring to keep the reality out. 

Eddard of House Stark was his father, the one who raised him with as much honour as he could. No one else. He was the son of some strange woman he’d never meet in his life who’d charmed the honourable Ned into her bed. _That_ was his story. 

This couldn’t be happening. No, not when he had _just_ found some semblance of happiness and peace. He knew the Old Gods were cruel, but to this degree? No. 

Jon didn’t know what games Sam was playing, saying such a vile thing to him out of spite towards Dany maybe, but he wouldn’t let it swell any longer. 

Jon towered forward, long strides shoving his face right into Sam’s space. “I don’t know where you think you heard this,” Jon paused, begging his body to let in enough air just so he could shut Sam up, “but it is utter nonsense, alright?” 

“Jon-” Sam looked frightened, backing up slightly as he stuttered with fumbling hands. “I-I have the papers as well. To Rhae-Rhaegar and Lyanna’s wedding.” His lips were trembling as he spoke, but he kept eye contact with Jon, determined to make him understand. “Bran saw it in his…visions as well,” he added. 

But Jon kept his knife-like glare intact, seething as he crowded more into Sam. “My father…” his voice trembled, a kind of anger he’d only felt when looking upon Ramsey Bolton boiled the blood in his veins, “was the most honourable man I’ve known.” 

Why couldn’t Sam understand what he was saying? There was no way his father, the one who bolted down the notion of being loyal and honest so far into his brain that during every second breath Jon was reminded of the man’s low and powerful voice, could lie to him. Every single moment he’d spent with Jon, looking into his bastard’s eyes and desperately trying to raise him equally to his siblings…was a lie? It made no fucking sense. 

Jon shook his head incredulously, a venomous hiss escaping his lips as he spat out his question. “You’re tell me that my father lied? For all those years he’d been lying to me, his wife, his _entire_ fucking house?” 

His friend shook his head nervously. “Well…no. He was protecting you, Jon.”

“By what?” he snapped back. “Placing me in such a spot in his family that I felt unworthy every goddamn day to be even eating with them?” Jon could still feel the wound where his heart would ache at the sight Lady Stark feeding one of the children so sweetly, a coo singing from her lips when they’d do something clumsy. And there he’d be, sitting in some corner spooning his dinner with a filled belly but a lonely heart.

No. All this pain…was because of a lie? Some honour-bound vow Ned had made to his dying sister? 

And yet…

In the back of Jon’s mind, it _made sense_ , and that was what terrified him, made his blood freeze. The logic behind the truth was so simple that when it clicked into place Jon didn’t even have a moment to pretend like it was a cruel farce being slapped onto his face. 

But that didn’t stop him from refusing to listen. 

“Have you told anyone?” Jon asked, voice as ragged as it had been when he’d wrapped five fingers tightly around Littlefinger’s short neck.

Sam cocked his head, brows furrowed, obviously not expecting that to be his initial query. He opened his mouth to speak but then stopped himself. Shaking his head slowly with a confused look, he murmured, “No, just Bran and I know.”

Jon nodded, like when they were at Castle Black and Sam was giving him daily news. He would beg for those days back, now in hindsight. “Good.” 

And with the frigid word Jon shouldered his way past his friend, the very core of him shaken. 

He didn’t even know where his feet were taking him, but all he knew was he had to leave. Get out of those tunnels filled with history and too many secrets, the weight of them suffocating his chest. 

It wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t _fair_. 

So many nights he had begged his father to give some semblance of information about the woman who gave birth to him, something. Let him know that perhaps there was someone out there waiting for her son, a son she wanted with all her pure heart, rather than just living symbol of a past mistake’s stain. 

Many days he’d spent cursing that same woman, cursing his father after a particularly lethal shouting by Lady Stark or Theon. Why’d they have to create him if all it had brought him was pain and the constant reminder that he was the sorest taint in the honourable Ned Stark’s life? 

Sam had once consoled him once, saying that bastards were at least the consequence of secret passion and love, that they were something too pure and scandalous for the world to accept. Yet all Jon would think during those cold nights, where the frost settled deep into his bones, and the aches of overworking his body because of Thorne rendered him hopeless, was that it didn’t matter. Because the only one who was suffering from those fits of glory and lust was him and him only. But even then, sole idea that kept him going was the absolute, almost too light of a belief that his mother was out there. 

And now after knowing all he wanted was to forget the last ten minutes of his life.

How many people had died for of his birth? How many had died as a consequence of the battle caused by his birth? The innocent and guilty, all of them.

And all because two people who had forgotten what was at stake decided to destroy millions of lives. How many innocents’ lives were stolen because of Rhaegar’s thoughtless pursuit? Had he even given a spec of care for those notions? Or was he a man madly in love, too blinded to care? 

A mad man sees what he sees. 

Did he believe what he was doing was right, even noble-worthy? 

And his mother. Even the thought of her made his heart thrum with anger. 

She was a _Stark_ , for Gods’ sakes. Not just anyone, but from the most honour-bound house to ever exist and yet…she forgot it all in the name of love too. 

The union of his parents had led to the biggest civil war in history, and they were all still suffering for it. 

Gods, he just wanted it to go away. All of it. 

They had so little time before the inevitable doom, and he desperately needed to spend it with the few people he dearly loved in the wretched world. He needed to take in their faces on last time, breathe in the same air as them, hear their last spout of laughter. Arya, Sansa, Edd, even Bran, Daen-

Dany. 

_Dany._

The thought of her name swung a fist-like punch into his gut, and in the aftermath all he could do was stay mum as his body throbbed with pain. 

Daenerys, the love of his entire damned life. A woman who not only cared for him in ways he deemed unworthy but cared for the world with equal vigour. Someone who saw him as more than some lonesome bastard, who actually believed in him. 

And now…now it would be taken away from him. Like everything he’d every truly loved with all his heart, this would be taken away from him too. 

If that wasn’t enough another crushing realization dawned upon him, leaving him an absolute wreck. 

_I’m the reason she suffered._

Once the thought crept its way into his mind it was all he could think of, panic and devastation wracking his senses woozy. Comprehending the idea made his eyes suddenly brim with tears, breath even more short than before. 

_I’m the reason she was running from the time of being just a babe._

_I’m the reason she was an orphan._

And then the worst of them all, the one that made him finally let out a horrid sob. 

_I’m the reason she was alone._

His mere existence was the cause of so much of her pain and trauma; all those years in exile, running and scavenging for crumbs of food. And all because two people were blinded by love. 

He shouldn’t be even looking near her, seven hells. He didn’t deserve breathing in the same air as her, or feeling her soft skin beneath his palms, or being her partner, he didn’t deserve any of it. 

Would she have been happy had he not been born? If Rhaegar hadn’t given Lyanna that blue rose would Dany have had a family? Maybe not a particularly stable one, but she would’ve _had_ one to the least. She’d have brothers, maybe even sisters if there was time. She’d have had a belly filled with food every night of her childhood and would’ve never had to spend a night shivering beneath the cold winds. Maybe she’d be a simple girl, one with big hopes and a soft carefree heart. Her voice constantly chinked with sweetness in ways it currently only did on the rarity. 

She’d have had it all…and his creation had destroyed it. 

And the worst part was that she would realize that too. The minute the knowledge came into her existence she’d understand how damaging his very living was to her entire life.

His birth destroyed her childhood, and now his lack of bastardy would destroy her claim, everything she worked towards. 

If he’d known this would happen, that his whole world would shift upside down he’d have held her close one last time. Would’ve taken in the air around her as they slept in her chambers on the boat. He’d have showered her with all the affection he could muster, making her flush in every corner of his childhood home. Gods, he would’ve told her he loves her so fucking much that sometimes he becomes breathless just by the thought of-

“Jon?”

His head snapped up as he dreadfully realized where his feet had taken him, the flash of silver hair in his peripheral vision making his already swirling stomach drop. 

There she was, in all her glory; the love of his life, minutes away from loathing his very being.

She looked like a blaze of light, a halo in the midst of the dimly lit hallways. Her hair painfully ethereal as it waved freely out of the confines of complicated braids. Standing there, with a concerned look furrowing her brows, thin shift rustling with her every movement, she pushed her door open wider. 

“Jon?” she asked again, but softer. 

And all he could do was stand their frozen, mouth parted as he scarfed down every last memory of her goddess-like features whilst his mind screamed, _go you fool! You’re making this worse than it already is._

The amethyst of her eyes, the milky pale and soft skin of her cheeks, the cupid’s bow he’d love biting down on. Would this be the last time he’d be able to see all of them up so close, before she banished him away for good? 

Dany shifted from her spot against the door, a soft sigh escaping her pink lip when she realized this would last a while. And oh so softly, she wrapped one strong palm around his forearm, tugging him till he stumbled inside the warm chambers.

Jon’s bleary eyes blinked across the room. Many times, he’d imagined being in one of these chambers in Winterfell with Dany, his eyes always squeezing painfully shut at the image of her pale skin contrasting the rugged stone walls of his home. How even with a sheen of sweat, flushed, she’d still sorely stick out. 

He realized she was moving him into a chair facing the crackling hearth, making him sit with a gentle push on his shoulders. 

Before Jon could even let out a yelp of protest, she was swung herself in his lap, the overwhelming scent of her filling his senses, intoxicating him. 

“Now,” Dany wrapped one thinly-veiled arm around his neck, the other splayed sweetly on his chest, “will you tell me what in the world is wrong with you?” Her tone was teasing, something that he’d made a goal to ease out of her on that boat. It had taken him days to melt that cool voice, and once that softness bloomed out, she’d never went back. He met her eyes as she rested her head of the chair’s top, throat closing suddenly. 

And like a crashing wave his eyes welled up with tears yet again, lips quivering. His heart thrummed with pain, _because it wasn’t fair_ , it wasn’t fair dammit. He loved her more than words could explain and somehow his damn blood was going to ruin it all. 

It almost made him laugh, how now he just wished to be the gloomy bastard of Eddard Stark more than anything. The one fact he’d assumed was the bane of his sadness was now the one thing he’d beg for back, if given the chance. 

Dany’s eyes widen at the image, palms wrapping panickily around his face. “What?” she asked, voice tinged with fear and eyes wide. “You’re frightening me Jon, tell me.” 

“I-” Jon groaned out in frustration, slamming his head back into the cushioned-chair. Why couldn’t he just _let it out_? Inevitably she’d be told by someone, so let it at least be in his power to be the one telling her. “I have to tell you something.” His voice was frail, throaty and small. 

Dany nodded encouragingly, shuffling closer in his lap to peck his cheek. “You can tell me Jon, c’mon,” she murmured against his skin, voice like a balm to his stinging heart. 

The palm resting on her thigh tightened as he kept her gaze. 

_Do it._ He inhaled, taking in the precious seconds before the worst moment of his life occurred. But then hesitation dipped into his nerves, snowballing before he could process what was happening. 

_I can’t do it._ Once the thought rushed into his mind, he couldn’t stop it. The paralyzing fear of her rejection was too much for him to handle, so no, he couldn’t do it. Call him a coward, call him weak, anything. 

_Why should I ruin the one good thing in my life,_ he reasoned with himself. _I give and give; for once I want something. I want her, I need her._

Call it selfish, he could give a damn. 

Jon’s shoulders rose as he shoved any thoughts of telling her out of his damn honourable mind. It felt like he could breathe again suddenly, and all those dreams of them growing old together resurfaced in his mind. It could happen, his dream could happen if he kept this one thing from her, just one. 

Jon smiled suddenly, taking her aback as Dany cocked her head at the bipolarity of his features.

“Nothing,” he let out, voice too high-pitched and cheery. His hands wrapped around her waist tightly, pawing her closer till he could catch her lips within his. 

“Jo-” Her shake of the head and furrowed brows decidedly disappeared when he kissed her. The world suddenly not mattering to either. 

Jon shifted her in his lap, the hands wrapped around the thick of her thighs wrenching her legs apart to straddle him. His tongue curled thickly in her mouth, making him groan when the lasting flavour of dates tingled his taste buds. He felt his blood running hot at her torturous touch as it tended to, the need to roll her over and fuck her into the plush chair almost overcoming his entire system. 

Jon could feel her smiling wickedly against his lips before Dany ran her hands through his curls, the movement of her fingers tugging on his hair rendering fat spots to erupt in his vision. 

_This was worth it,_ he consoled himself whilst in this utter bliss. One lie, _and I can have it all._

It wasn’t really different than what Rhaegar had done, Jon thought to himself randomly in retrospect. But at least his decision wouldn’t cause the destruction of a nation, a downfall of a grand house. 

Dany dipped her face back when she began wheezing, chuckling between huffs when he tried nipping on her collar bone. “All of a sudden?” she asked amusedly, tilting her head to the side like Ghost always did as a pup. “What’s gotten into you?” she chuckled throatily, pushing back on of his raven curls. 

Jon shook his head, breathless and grinning at the sight of his entire world right in front of him. “Just felt like it,” he shrugged lazily, twirling a strand of silver-spun hair around his index finger. 

"Dany?" he almost sang, a childlike yearning in his deep voice. 

She hummed absentmindedly, fingers tickling and caressing the exposed skin of his neck. 

"You know I love you right?" his voice wavered as he desperately ran his eyes over her like a man dying of thirst. "More than anything."

She nodded, curiosity clearly imminent in her thoughts. "I know." Her lips quirked gently. "You know that I love you, right?" 

"Oh I _know _," he teased immediately, still stunned by the question of how she could possibly be real.__

__

__Dany let out a giggle, flushing when she lowered her eyes. The look made her seem so much younger, like a carefree maiden. Digging into her bottom lip harshly, she took him in for a few calming seconds, eyes so sweet and deep he wanted to swim in them for the rest of eternity. Before long she was pressing her mouth onto the skin of his cheek and jaw, the way she knew made him squirm and growl._ _

____

The feeling of her sighs and throaty laughs fanning his face should’ve calmed his nerves, solidify his decision. It should’ve, and yet. 

____

He should be feeling _happy_! What was wrong with him?

____

There she was, Daenerys Targaryen, wrapped around him with her big big eyes filled with an undeserving amount of love for him. Speaking to about her bizarre day like they always did during the trip to Winterfell, laughing, acting like the young woman she really was.

____

“…and I met Gilly. She’s such a sweet woman! Oh, and her baby boy,” she gasped to herself, blissfully unaware of the tightening of his chest, the suffocating feeling building in his lungs. He looked up, seeing her smile falter slightly as she absentmindedly brushed fingers through his thick curls, “I-I hope she can persuade Sam to understand my situation. He needs to understand that his father had committed treason…” Her words became muffled as the crushing realization closed his throat.

____

_Don’t do it._

____

And yet he knew he had to. 

____

There was no way he could continue to keep her in the dark, that too related to something so important to her. He loved her too much, cared for her too much to hide this terrible truth. They never lied to each other before, and though this may break them he still didn’t want to lie. 

____

_Maybe I am too much Ned Stark’s son to be anything else,_ he chuckled loathly to himself as Dany’s beautiful face shifted in expressions with every new word escaping her lips. 

____

_Aye I am his son. And maybe his honour was foolish but hell I will try upholding it till my last breath._

____

“I have to tell you something,” Jon blurted out, confident and nervous all at once. His face softened with sadness at her curious expression. 

____

Dany climbed off his lap, huffing at her snap of patience. “Jon Snow, will you just let it out! You know I don’t care for this constant hesitance.” She softened, shoulders slumping as she placed her palms on either side of him on the chair. “It’s just me, my love,” Dany whispered powerfully, sliver twine falling like a curtain around them. 

____

His heart clenched at the sentiment, but the clear determination within him clearing out the last of doubt. 

____

Jon rose, maintaining eye contact with her before he reached out for his furred cape. 

____

“Here,” he murmured, wrapping the cloak around her shoulders while she furrowed her brows innocently, “it’s cold in the crypts.” Jon Snow let out a deep sigh, taking in the final visage of the woman he loved before their impending doom; either from what he said, or what that man of the night might do in the sparing days they had. 

____

At least he’d know he’d used the last few moments with her upholding everything his father, his _real_ father taught him. “You’ll need this.”

____

 

____

**Author's Note:**

> Don't you wish Jon was selfish sometimes lmao?
> 
> Also is anyone available to beta a fic I'm working on? It's super long and I desperately need sometime to fix the random mistakes.


End file.
